


The Mark Of A Sinner

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dating, Demonic Possession, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Torture, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Hell thinks of a way of using a demon who is immune to Holy Water, all they have to do is corrupt him again. But Aziraphale knows Crowley better than God herself, but can he save his demon from sin?





	The Mark Of A Sinner

“This is taking too long,” Hastur worried.

They were standing outside the throne room, very few demons entered and lived, and when Beelzebub was summoned everyone flinched. The herald had insisted that the summoning was regarding the Demon Crawley and that Beelzebub was simply summoned to discuss the new plan. Everyone who was anyone was crammed into the dank corridor outside the throne room; the silence was deafening.

Suddenly the heavy doors opened, and the corridor was bathed in the scorching heat, a demon standing too close to the door caught aflame. The doors closed behind Beelzebub who was smiling.

That was the truly terrifying part.

Later, in Beelzebub’s office Dagan was drinking herself blind while Hastur was rocking in the corner; biting his fingers until they bled.

“This is a terrible idea,” Hastur growled, “This is a terrible idea.”

“I heard you the first time,” Dagon snapped at him, “But we do not question the Dark Lord.”

Beelzebub was sat on a throne, fiddling with a small piece of metal, “This will be _wonderful_.”

* * *

“Angel,” Crowley whined, “Are you ready yet?”

There was a thump from somewhere in the bookshop and Crowley smiled warmly. Suddenly Aziraphale appeared, flustered and fumbling with his tie, “Sorry, I’m here.”

“You’re useless,” Crowley teased, “What were you doing?”

Aziraphale pouted and walked automatically towards Crowley’s car, glowering at a traffic warden and stopping his technology from recording the licence plate and writing out a ticket for having parked on double yellow lines and on a busy street corner.

“I was trying to find something to wear,” Aziraphale sighed.

“You’re,” _wearing what you always wear_, Crowley almost said, and then he looked closer; the waistcoat was ivory and new with golden buttons, the coat was the same but freshly pressed, the tie was a deeper blue than he usually wore, and he had a new pair of shiny shoes, “Looking great. I have no idea why you worry so much.”

“Says you,” Aziraphale retorted, getting into the Bentley with familiar ease, “Who spent a week contemplating shoes, only to then decide that the shoes you had finally chosen did not go with the lipstick you had already bought.”

“I needed the perfect costume, angel!” Crowley protesting, driving off at an alarming speed, startling the traffic warden who was still trying to work his camera.

Aziraphale stiffened and sighed, “You looked wonderful, dear.”

Crowley smiled, “Thank you.”

“You should wear the lipstick more often,” Aziraphale commented as if he were commenting on the weather.

Crowley nearly crashed as he swerved a little too close to a car passing the opposite direction, but at that speed, he hoped the angel hadn’t noticed. In truth he did wear the lipstick often … alone … when he needed to feel better, which was usually when he was thinking about Aziraphale.

Crowley skidded to a stop at the Ritz and they got out of the Bentley, “You know,” Crowley began, observing the way the doorman did not blink at their disastrous arrival, “I’m starting to think we come here too often. They’re not frightened of me anymore.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly and let the waiter take his coat and show them to their table, “Are you afraid they’ll see how _lovely_ you are?”

Crowley looked like he was going to throw a very mean retort, only to decide against it at the last minute. He stared or possibly glared at Aziraphale as he took his seat, his jaw grinding as he chewed his words or possibly swallowed a small smile.

“What will you have, dear?” Aziraphale said not taking his eyes off the menu he memorised years ago, as Crowley sat down opposite him.

Crowley glanced of the menu without picking it open or opening it, “I don’t know. I might have a coffee while you have your starter. Maybe I’ll have something later.”

Aziraphale placed the menu down and thought, before looking up at the waiter, “We’ll have a platter of oysters to share. For the main course, I’ll have Dover Sole, with leeks, cauliflower and caviar. And … he’ll have … Cutlet and Fillet of Lamb with wood roast pepper and basil. For dessert I’ll have; Amedei Chocolate Mousse. He’ll have; the Grand Marnier Soufflé.”

The waiter stood there for a moment writing down the order, “Sir … I’m afraid we don’t have oysters on the menu.”

“No,” Aziraphale smiled softly, “But I believe the chef has prepared some anyway. Oh! And _Riesling, Clos Ste Hune, Trimbach, _2008, with the starter, please. We’ll have _Dom Pérignon, ‘Œnothèque’_, 1971, with the main course.”

The waiter nodded and strode off rather perplexed. Crowley risked looking over his sunglasses at the angel, “Do you know how much that _Dom Pérignon_ _costs_?”

Aziraphale wiggled and looked indifferent, “We’re celebrating. Besides, money is no object for us.”

“But _£2,500_ for a bottle of champagne, angel?” Crowley teased, still tingling from Aziraphale taking control, “You do know how to spoil a demon.”

Aziraphale gave him a bashful smile and fluttered those perfect eyelashes, “Well I do try.”

It was strange being free, Aziraphale could smile freely and be devilishly coy, and Crowley could bask in his joy and show his happiness openly. The oysters arrived and even Crowley smiled a little, he prised one open and looked at the flesh inside, “You know, this is definitely a good use of a miracle.”

Aziraphale poured some fresh lemon juice over his, “I remember the first time we had these,” He then consumed the fish with an ungodly _slurp _which was somehow divine.

“We?” Crowley reached for the mignonette, and slurped his own down, “I thought you said you’d had them before?”

“No,” Aziraphale frowned, “I said I had heard they were good.”

“I’m still amazed you tempted me before I even thought to try,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale wiped his fingers on his napkin and took up his glass of _Riesling 2008_, “You had not thought to tempt me?”

“Well, I’d thought about it,” Crowley allowed, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes before swallowing his second oyster, “But I had never thought to _try_.”

“Why?” Aziraphale picked up another, preparing it like the last.

Crowley sipped at his wine, deciding that the £395 price-tag was a little steep but still thoroughly enjoyable, “I feared you might fall.”

Aziraphale stopped, his shoulders dropped slightly, and the softest affection filled his eyes, “Oh, Crowley…”

“Shut up,” Crowley muttered, smiling despite himself, “Falling isn’t fun, you know.”

“I know,” Aziraphale looked a little sad, but the affectionate smile and twinkling eyes remained the same, “Though, I do think I would have made a better demon than you.”

Crowley was aghast, “Take that back!”

Aziraphale grinned, “Well, as you said; I tempted _you_. And _I_ suggested perhaps using wide-spread low-level evil to aggravate groups might be a more effective way and gaining souls in the long-term.”

“You were drunk at the time,” Crowley argued, “Besides, we were talking about starting stampedes at the time.”

“And you _listened_,” Aziraphale insisted, “Besides, if it weren’t for that suggestion you would have never caused all that mayhem in Pamplona. You got a few awards for that I believe.”

“Not my fault they made a sport out of tormenting bulls and stampeding them through the streets,” Crowley grumbled, “I was trying to cause a little chaos and free those animals in the process … just because that Fermín bloke got trampled in the process and some thrill-seekers thought it was fun. I was trying to _stop_ the bullfighting.”

Aziraphale put down the oyster he was beginning to prepare, “I know, dear. I’ve been working small miracles for years to make them stop.”

“You have?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Only … I can’t do a _proper_ miracle to stop it. After they made Fermín a saint Gabriel refused any suggestion at stopping the tradition. So, I had to work through individuals, making small suggests and tiny miracles that will get missed upstairs. Perhaps now that we’re free we should go to Spain and stop them for good.”

Crowley grinned, “That would be nice, I haven’t been to Spain in years.”

“When was the last time you went to Spain?”

Crowley chewed on his last oyster as e thought, “1585, I think.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, “The Anglo-Spanish War.”

“I never met, Phillip II,” Crowley mused, sipping his wine.

Aziraphale stared at him, “Exactly how many actions have you _claimed_ as temptations?”

Crowley grimaced and thought for a moment, finishing his wine as the waiter cleared away the oyster shells and took away the plate, “Not sure, far too many at any rate.”

Crowley stopped, something pricking at the back of his neck, he looked around to see if there was anything unusual behind him, but all he saw were ridiculously rich people eating and staff waiting on them.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked with gentle concern.

“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley shook off the feeling, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Aziraphale looked at him curiously and quickly glanced around the room, he did not see anything unusual either, “I was saying that, as we no longer have jobs, we could take a holiday. Or several.”

Crowley grinned, “I haven’t been to a beach in eons.”

“Beaches in Spain are warmer than England,” Aziraphale with a smile, relaxing slightly.

They talked constantly over their meal, about everything and anything; the food, their plans for the future, the books Aziraphale had acquired in the last week. Crowley watched as Aziraphale savoured every bite of his food and had to remind himself to eat his own. There was still that awful feeling that they were being watched. Eventually, the waiter cleared away their dessert dishes and presented them their hefty bill. Crowley snatched it with a smile and walked over to the pay-point and took out a handful of cash.

“We do accept cheques, sir,” The gentleman said discretely, but he accepted the fifty-pound notes regardless and counted them out, “Your change?”

“Keep it,” Crowley dismissed and walked back to Aziraphale who was collecting his coat.

Aziraphale beamed at him, “All done?”

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed opening the door, not letting on to the angel that he actually paid for their dinner rather than simply conjuring a demonic miracle on the bill or the staff.

The late-August night air was cool and sharp compared to the restaurant and the quickly made their way to Crowley’s Bentley. Every time he rounded this corner, he feared to see billowing smoke and flames licking at the windows. However, today, like every other day since the world did not end; the bookshop was whole and quiet.

Aziraphale stopped at his door, “Well … goodnight.”

“Night, angel,” Crowley said softly, leaning against his Bentley that was parked on the corner right outside Aziraphale’s door.

He opened the door and stopped again, “How about a picnic? Tomorrow?”

Crowley nearly lost his balance, and recovered it by sauntering towards the driver’s seat, “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

Aziraphale smiled bashfully, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Crowley’s hands were shaking as he drove towards his flat. _Perhaps we could have a picnic_, the angel had once said, _dine at the Ritz_.

A joyous smile played on his lips and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. _I’m not going too fast_, he thought hopefully. He skidded to a stop outside his apartment building and walked towards the doors, fumbling for his keys. He did not need keys, but he liked the feel of them. Yet for some reason, which may or may not have been his fault, one could never grab the correct one on the first try. He stopped at the doors and grabbed the key; the doors were always locked this time of night. Suddenly he felt it again, the strange sensation that there was someone behind him. He turned to look only to be struck across the temple with something very hard and cold.

* * *

“What an abomination!” Dagon muttered.

“How did we mizz thiz?” Beelzebub buzzed, “You were his superior, Hazztur.”

Hastur was staring in disgust as the demon and the angel smiled at each other across the dinner table at a fancy restaurant. His spine shivered and his stomach churched as if a swarm of Beelzebub’s flies had got trapped inside, again.

“You’re not suggesting this is my fault, are you?” Hastur squeaked, realising the implication in Beelzebub’s words.

Beelzebub seethed and then sighed, “No, not really. But how long exzzactly has thizz been happening?”

A low-level demon who was disguised as a girl around the age of five perked up, “The Archangel Michael suggested that they had been seen fraternizing as far back as the seventeenth century.”

The Duke, the Lord of the Flies, and Prince Beelzebub stared at the child.

“O-of course, this is a bit more severe than fraternizing,” The demon stammered nervously, “Michael was not exactly forthcoming with the information. She mostly dealt with Ligur.”

Dagon bristled at the demon until she ran away, but Beelzebub’s attention had returned to the angel and the demon.

“This is going so much more fun than I could have imagined,” Although Beelzebub did not have much of an imagination, it was far superior to most demons. Beelzebub stared at demon and the angel, smirking and fiddling with the piece of metal Lucifer had given them.

They followed to unsuspecting couple at a very safe distance, Hastur said that he knew where they would be going and turned out to be correct. Dagon cringed as they suspected a kiss was imminent and sighed with relieve as Crowley got into his automobile and drove away. Hastur was struggling to swallow his bile. Somehow Beelzebub seemed ecstatic, which was unusual in the apathetic and lethargic Prince.

They travelled celestially to the building where Crowley resided and saw him skidding to a stop, he was fumbling with some keys and did not notice the inconspicuous little family turn into demons and slowly approach him. He had stopped at the door and Beelzebub gave a curt nod, telling Hastur to strike him with his favourite new weapon; a crowbar.

* * *

Crowley’s head was swimming as he came around, Aziraphale had mentioned his head hurt when he was struck down in St James’ Park, but he had described nothing like this.

“Hastur hit you a lot harder this time,” The voice sounded like Dagon, Lord of the Flies and Master of Torments, “Oh well. At least you’re awake for the good part.”

Crowley forced his eyes open; the glasses were gone and there was something red dripping in front of his left eye. Hastur was fidgeting and pacing in the corner, muttering to himself. A few lesser demons, most of whom Crowley did not recognise, were watching at a very safe distance. Beelzebub was ginning menacingly, slouching on their throne.

“Demon Crowley,” They said sarcastically, “I would have liked to try to kill you. Over and over again until we succeeded. But our King is cunning. He hazz better plans for you.”

Crowley clenched his jaw with fury, less than a month they had been left alone, Crowley had hoped for longer. He had hoped for some warning.

Beelzebub pulled out a small metallic object, “Oh yes. He is wizze, and he haz needz for a demon immune to Holy Water,” They stood abruptly, and marched down the towards him, “Do you know what thiz izz?”

Crowley looked at the object which appeared to be a brand; he recognised the demonic scrawl but could not make out the words in reverse. He shrugged, “A new postage stamp?”

He had expected anger or contempt, but Beelzebub smiled. The brand in their hand started to gently glow with the heat. Crowley tried to remain calm, but instinct was pulling at the chains that bound him, fear crept up into his chest quickening his heart, his breathing became laboured as he felt the heat upon his face. Beelzebub moved out of sight and Crowley lost his nerve, closing his eyes and waiting for the pain. The pain was so much worse than he had imagined, and Crowley had the best imagination in Hell.

* * *

Aziraphale stood outside his shop, trying not to check his watch again. He had taken most of the morning deciding on what the wear, although most of his clothes were nearly identical anyway, for some reason, it mattered. He had been worried Crowley would be waiting for him scowling, but twenty minutes later, Crowley was still nowhere to be seen.

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Aziraphale muttered, correcting his own thoughts, “Where are you?”

A further eight minutes passed before Aziraphale caught sight of the Bentley.

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley yawned, as Aziraphale wrangled the picnic basket into the car, “Overslept, I should have set an alarm.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Aziraphale smiled, and he meant it, he could forgive many things even if his disinterest was a little upsetting. He drove them to a pretty hilltop outside the city and helped the angel with the basket.

“We could go to Alpha Centauri, if you like,” Aziraphale offered after the conversation about the economy of bees dies, “I’ve never actually visited the stars.”

“Hm,” Crowley hummed, helping himself to another sandwich bite, “Could do.”

Aziraphale put down his plate, “Are you alright?”

Crowley snapped back into focus, “Yeah, why?”

“You seem…” Aziraphale reached for the right word, “Distant. I something weighing on you?”

“Nope,” Crowley shrugged, grabbing yet another sandwich.

Aziraphale frowned, “At least you’re enjoying the food. You usually don’t.”

“Tastes good,” Crowley muttered, scowling at a dogwalker for no apparent reason. The late summer sun was beginning to fall in the west, and the sky was beginning to darken. Usually Aziraphale would have been sat in content wonder at the view, would have been overjoyed at having Crowley with him, but something was _wrong,_ and he could not put his finger on it.

Aziraphale played with his food for a few moments thinking, “Did I … do something? Or _not_ do something?”

“What are you talking about, angel?” Crowley sighed with boredom, even the word _angel_ sounded wrong today.

Aziraphale wriggled with nerves, “I mean, you’re acting a little off … is it me?”

Crowley smiled, but it was in no way warm, “Not at all, angel, I’m just … tired.”

“We don’t get tired,” Aziraphale muttered, “I mean, I know you like to sleep, but you don’t get _tired_. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine,” Crowley snapped and then continued glaring at the dogwalker until the dog whined and pulled his owner away.

Aziraphale remained silent, his thoughts were spiralling out of control and nearly all of them concluded that he had somehow insulted the demon. Perhaps he should have asked him into the shop last night for a drink, or perhaps he should have paid the bill for dinner, or perhaps …

“It’s getting late,” Crowley commented, “Should we head home?”

Aziraphale looked up at the early stars and sighed, “Yes, I suppose.”

They packed up the plates that miraculously fit inside the wicca basket and folder the red-tartan blanket before heading back to the car. Aziraphale hesitated at the passenger side, “Would you like to come back to the shop? Have a drink or two?”

Crowley smiled coldly, “I like the sound of that.”

They got in the car, Crowley drove a little faster than usual, and a little more dangerously, and Aziraphale worried. He put on a bright smile and invited the demon inside and found some rather flavoursome wine for them to share. They talked about nothing in particular and inevitably the subject changed to Armageddon and the future existence of the planet.

“Oh, they’ll try again,” Crowley nodded, “Just a matter of time.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale slouched, depressed by the concept of going through all that stress and trauma again, “No going back to Heaven or Hell though, just us against ten million angels and just as many demons.”

“Well!” Crowley scoffed, “Minus Ligur.”

“Ah yes, because one makes all the difference,” Aziraphale replied dryly.

“I think they’ll try to remove us first,” Crowley muttered, talking to himself more than to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale straightened, “We should be more careful then.”

“How?” Crowley exclaimed, “Two very big armies don’t like us.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, “Well, I could pull a few strings. I still have a few … acquaintances upstairs.”

“They never deserved you,” Crowley hissed, “Never really appreciated you.”

_Three_, Aziraphale thought, though he wondered exactly what he was counting, the wine had muddled his mind too much. His thoughts were distracted by Crowley sauntering towards him.

“They don’t deserve you.” Crowley repeated in a whisper.

“I’m not a piece of property, Crowley,” Aziraphale scowled, “I belong to me now.”

Crowley smirked, “Perhaps I’ll claim you.”

Aziraphale froze as Crowley suddenly placed his knees between Aziraphale’s legs and the arms of the chair, kneeling over him and kissing him greedily. Aziraphale squeaked in surprise and for a moment allowed himself to relax, and even hum with pleasure. Then Crowley pulled his hair, tugging several curls loose. Aziraphale’s gasp of pain was lost as Crowley kissed him deeply, grinding his pelvis again the trapped angel.

Finally, Crowley pulled away just enough for Aziraphale to speak, “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, angel,” Crowley whispered mordantly, “It’s just sex.”

Aziraphale froze, feeling his heartbreak a thousand times over, “No.”

Crowley sniggered and leaned in to kiss him again, reaching for the angel’s crotch.

“Crowley, I said _no_,” Aziraphale tried to push the demon off him, “Crowley!”

Crowley was smiling as if Aziraphale were telling a crude joke, “What’s the matter angel? Don’t you want me? I know I want you.”

“And _want_ cannot always _have_,” Aziraphale protested, giving him a firm shove.

Crowley hissed and kissed Aziraphale so violently he bit him, drawing blood. His slender fingers forcing their way past the zipper on Aziraphale’s trousers. Aziraphale squirmed and continued to try to push the demon off. Aziraphale bit him back to get him to back off, but Crowley simply laughed and continued touching him.

Aziraphale had a thought and hated it, he braced himself for the aftermath and whispered against Crowley’s lips, “Bless you, O Lord.”

Crowley lurched back and fell onto the floor and hissed. Suddenly Crowley’s smile was gone, and even behind his dark sunglasses the angel could feel his anger. Crowley looked as if about to strike him and Aziraphale grabbed the heavy rotary phone off the desk beside him and smashed it against his head. The phone was definitely broken, and Crowley fell heavily to the floor. Several moments passed before Aziraphale could bring himself to move, and when he did Crowley was already beginning to stir. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the demon slumped back onto the floor in a heavy slumber.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale muttered nervously.

* * *

_Let me die_, Crowley thought, _please_.

Something laughed at him.

He had hoped he would simply not care, like a form of brainwashing where you were not conscious. He was definitely conscious. He remembered waking up and wasting time when he should have been meeting Aziraphale. He remembered stealing from the homeless man outside his apartment building for no reason other than he liked his ring which was probably the only valuable possession the man had in the world. He remembered being rude to Aziraphale, lying to his face. He remembered the dogwalker who had ruined to the view and giving the dog liver failure that would kill it within a day. The worst part was how_ it_ had looked at Aziraphale as if he were a piece of meat. And then the worst happened; _it_ had assaulted him.

Slowly he woke, but the movements were still not his own.

_Kill me_, he sobbed.

His hands and feet were bound with soft white rope to four corners of a double bed, and he was propped up on a few fluffy tartan pillows.

“Kinky,” His lips smirked, he might have said the same thing if he were not trapped inside his own mind and so terribly afraid. He licked his lips, could still taste the angel’s blood on his tongue, “I wonder if the rest of you tastes as good.”

Aziraphale walked into view, he looked rather dignified given the night he’d had. He had healed his broken lip and his bleeding scalp from where _it_ had pulled at his hair, but there was a cold hollowness in his eyes. “Don’t even try to transform into a snake,” He warned, “These are celestial ties; no miracles, demonic or otherwise.”

Crowley’s soul shuddered as he felt the thing in control of his body coil and writhe with anger.

“What’s the matter, angel?” _It_ hissed, “Afraid to get a little physical.”

“This is not you, Crowley,” He said calmly, Crowley was not sure if he was stating a fact or simply trying to persuade himself, “I have some questions.”

“If I get a question right, will you take off an item of clothing?” His mouth said without his permission.

Aziraphale ignored the comment, “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” His mouth said flatly, “Tie first I think.”

Aziraphale huffed, “I know now that you have never lied to me in the past because you are lying now.”

“I am not!” He protested, comically insulted, “So take something off.”

Aziraphale ignored him again, “What it that mark on your neck?”

“What mark?”

Aziraphale grabbed a piece of paper and showed him a sketch, “_This_. This is _burned_ into the base of your neck. What is it?”

_Oh no_, Crowley thought, his mouth giggled, “I haven’t got a clue, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed, clearly frustrated, “Another lie. Even I can recognise a Devil’s Mark, Crowley. I’m just not familiar with this particular one. Tell me what it says, I know you can read it.”

He held the paper closer and Crowley sobbed inside, on the outside he straightened and held himself pride as he sneered, “I won’t break under those pretty eyes, angel. Try taking off that jacket and I’ll consider it.”

Aziraphale froze, then looked at the sigil, “Oh … I see.”

He left the room and Crowley felt his body fighting against his bonds, trying to free itself. There was an anger with him, pure, hot and red, and threatening to destroy everything in his path. Some small part of him wanted Aziraphale to figure it out, wanted the angel to save him from this thing in his skin. But mostly he wanted Aziraphale to run, save himself, and never look back.

Aziraphale returned a moment later and gave Crowley a weary look as he had caught him trying to wriggle free, “Stop that. Now, I’m guessing you’re a demon.”

“What else am I going to be?” Crowley scoffed, “An aardvark?”

Aziraphale gazed at him wistfully, “So you have access to his memories. Who are you?”

Crowley’s mouth grinned, “I’m Crowley.”

“No,” Aziraphale looked somewhere between tears and rage, “No, you are something _possessing_ him. Unless …” He stared at the book for a moment and sighed, “No wonder Crowley can’t push you out. It’s not one demon in there with him, there are seven of you.”

Crowley laughed, “Come off it, angel. You can’t even read that thing!”

Aziraphale was lost in thoughts, “No, it makes sense. Sleeping in, eating nearly everything at lunch. Your lust, your wrath, your pride. Virtues are the names of angels. It’s only logical that the Sins would be demons.”

Crowley relaxed and wiggled, “Guilty.”

Aziraphale looked at him sadly, “Is Crowley still in there?”

“It’s just us, angel.” Crowley sneered, tugging at his bonds.

Aziraphale shuddered, “There are cures. Ways of ridding you.”

“Ah, yes, for humans,” Crowley mocked, “Those cures will kill _him_. Destroy him body and soul.”

_Yes, do that_, Crowley thought,_ a little Holy Water and a quick prayer and this thing can’t hurt you anymore._

“So, he is in there,” Aziraphale almost smiled, “There are other ways. Every sin has it’s opposite. Sloth and Gluttony are easy; I just have to keep you awake and not feed you. But that’s not potent enough to really weaken you. Greed and Envy are a little harder, generosity and kindness are not something that can be externally influenced.”

“That and demons _can’t_ be kind,” Crowley mocked, “Let’s face it, angel, this plan stinks.”

“Crowley’s kind,” Aziraphale protested, “And generous. You may be in his skin and sharing his memories, but you clearly don’t _know_ him. That Pride of yours can be fought with humility, but Pride is one of the sturdier sins and it will take a lot to weaken that particular sin. Wrath on the other hand, is opposed to calm and happiness, as an angel I should be able to influence that.”

“You’ve missed one,” Crowley jeered, but Crowley could feel it was threatened.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale blushed, “Lust,” He looked up at Crowley, looking deeply into his eyes, “Love.”

“You expect to fight us with _Love_?” Crowley mocked, laughing at him, “You are a pathetic excuse for an angel.”

Aziraphale smiled, “I don’t see why not. Love makes you happy, and kind, and generous, and humbled,” He moved closer to the demon in his bed, “All Crowley has to do is let those feelings flood him and push you out.”

Crowley tried to bite his nose, “Crowley’s not here right now.”

_I’m here_, Crowley thought to himself, then panicked. What did Aziraphale mean? Did he think he loved humanity as he did? Did the angel think he loved him as a friend? Or did he _know?_

“It’ll take a lot more than a few _pathetic_ emotions to banish us,” Crowley sneered, mocking Aziraphale, “You’re just weak! You can’t save him. And you can’t cure him. You can’t even put him out of his misery!”

Aziraphale looked sick, “Classic cures would kill him, but I can help him. You forget I’m an angel. A being of light,” He began to glow slightly, “Our very essence is loving, generous, and kind.”

Crowley pulled against his ties, shaking the bed as he laughed, “You’re an idiot! He doesn’t _love_ you!”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, placing his hands upon Crowley’s chest, “This may hurt a little, dear.”

By ‘hurt a little’, he had meant it felt like he was being burned alive in a tanning bed; no angry flames, but brilliant light that seeped into his being and threatened to cook the flesh off his bones. The Sins screamed out, pleading, pretending to be Crowley. Crowley was trapped inside, aware of the pain but removed from it, he could feel the Sins’ grip on him loosen as they fought off the attack. He could see through his eyes that Aziraphale was crying, cringing at the screams escaping the demon’s lips.

_Kindness, generosity, happiness, love_, he thought to himself, all of the feelings and actions he had tried to avoid. He thought of all the times he had done miracles for Aziraphale, for no reason other than he had asked; Hamlet, paying the bills at the restaurants and theatres they visited, paintball stains, removing annoying customers, resurrecting ducks he had accidentally killed. He thought of the things he had done for Aziraphale without being asked; saving him during the French Revolution, perfect dinners where the chef cooked whatever the angel wanted, saving him from Nazis, saving his books from the bomb he had dropped on aforementioned Nazis. He tried to think of when he had been happy; he thought of dinners at the Ritz, drinking in Aziraphale’s backroom, the park bench where they switched back into their own bodies.

He was almost in control now, and that meant he could feel the pain of the divine light, but there were emotions too; joy and hope mostly. He screamed and was surprised to hear to it vocalised with his own voice. Aziraphale pulled his hands away, instantly recognising the difference, but Crowley shook his head.

_They’re still here_, he thought, hoping his face expressed his desperation, _just kill me and save yourself_.

Aziraphale seemed to only half understand and nodded and reluctantly lay his glowing hands back on Crowley’s chest and winced as the demon screamed. Crowley tried with all his might to push the monsters from his mind, trying to let Aziraphale’s light purify him rather than destroy him, but it was not enough. He felt Wrath creeping through his veins. Sloth was pulling at his mind. He could hear Pride, Envy, and Lust laughing at him. He felt Gluttony and Greed pulling at the ropes.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, “Crowley please.”

He sobbed. He couldn’t fight them. He was one lowly demon fighting off seven ancient fundamental beings and being a demon, they already had a hold over him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale leaned forward, crying, “I love you.”

He thought his heart had stopped, and suddenly he remembered that he did not have to hide his feelings anymore, he had defied hell and he had no reason to keep up appearances. He sobbed as he let his feelings free from their cage, he had locked them away so long ago he had not remembered how to free them until Aziraphale said those simple words. It hurt, surprisingly, a dull aching in his soul which longed for something or someone. He let the emotions free and could no longer feel the pain of Aziraphale’s divine light. The Sins were screaming, fighting for control. He thrashed and writhed on the bed, but the screams were not his own. Suddenly he stilled.

“Crowley?” He heard a voice whisper distantly. He forced his eyes open, and saw a very worried angel gazing desperately through the gloom, “Crowley?”

“Hi,” He groaned, struggling to hold his own weight only to realise that it was Aziraphale holding him.

Aziraphale almost smiled through his tears; recognising his best friend instantly. He pulled lightly on the ropes and the came away freely, allowing him to hold the demon closer, “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.”

Crowley fought back tears, “No, I-I…”

“Hush dear,” Aziraphale said soothingly, pulling him into a hug. Crowley felt him peeking under the collar of his shirt just to make sure the mark was gone, “It’s alright now.”

“But I…” Crowley protested.

“_You_ didn’t,” Aziraphale said sternly, pulling away to look the demon in his eyes, “They did. And they’re gone, everything is alright now.”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley muttered, feeling the guilt of his actions crushing down on him. He pulled away, pulling loose the ties that bound his ankles and then sat on the edge of the bed, “I-I attacked you.”

“_They_ did,” Aziraphale retorted, “They were just playing with your weaknesses.”

“My weaknesses!” Crowley hissed, anger and dreed boiling in his veins, “Just because I’m a demon doesn’t make _that_ acceptable!”

“That’s not-!” Aziraphale sighed, and calmed, “I didn’t mean to excuse anything. Nor was I implying that being a demon makes you sinful. We all sin, Crowley, and_ The_ Sins can exploit that in all of us.”

“You’re an angel,” Crowley muttered.

“I sin,” Aziraphale said easily and Crowley scoffed. The angel moved down the bed and sat beside him, “You’ve watched me eat my way through sixty centuries, my dear. I’m certainly gluttonous.”

Crowley fought a faint smile and Aziraphale continued, “Let’s see. Greed; have you seen my bookshop?” Crowley nearly smiled again, “Wrath, hm … well, I did get rather angry with that young gentleman who tried to take my beloved Oscar Wilde collection from me. Um … Envy, I used to envy humans and their freedoms, though I believe now they’re not all entirely free either. I also envy anyone who has a book I don’t own.”

Crowley was losing his fight against his smile and turned to look at the angel with tears in his eyes, “What about Sloth?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, “I think that might be the only sin I don’t endure.”

“Only?”

“Well, I nearly lost my head over my dignity and pride. Don’t you remember?” Aziraphale teased.

“1792,” Crowley grinned, “Oh, those _shoes_!”

They laughed for a moment, and for a moment everything was back to normal.

Crowley sat in silence, “You missed one.”

Aziraphale looked at him innocently, “Did I?”

Crowley tensed, “It’s fine. I know you only said those things to make me feel better. To fight the Devil’s Mark.”

Aziraphale sighed, “Oh, we are idiots, aren’t we?” He fumbled with his fingers for a moment before continuing, “I’ve known lust. Just a little. Thought about …” He glanced quickly at Crowley who was looking at his hands as if they were covered in blood, “Crowley, look at me.”

The demon sighed unevenly and turned to face the angel.

“I love you.”

Crowley forgot how to breathe.

“And I know you love me too,” Aziraphale continued bashfully, “I’ve known a while, though not exactly how much. It’s strange how English only has one word. Ancient Greek was much better. They had, _philia_ for friendship, and_ storge_ for familial affection, _ag__ápe_ for unconditional divine love, _éros_…”

Aziraphale hesitated, Crowley was staring in numb bewilderment.

Aziraphale bit his lip, “I thought I loved you as I loved all things, that I paid more attention to you as you were the only constant for the first four thousand years. Then in Rome, I knew it was more. I thought it a strange friendship, but in truth I didn’t think of you as I did my friends either. I’m not sure when I realised, but I remember when I realised you loved me. You had walked on consecrated ground to save me, and then saved my books when I had forgotten them in my haste to save _us_. I fooled myself into thinking it was just our friendship. I got you the Holy Water, because I feared for you, but I couldn’t … take _that_ step.” Aziraphale could no longer make eye contact, nor stop his hands from fidgeting with whatever he could reach, which was currently a button and had fallen off his tattered old waistcoat, “Heaven might have been listening. Or worse; Hell. And I wasn’t _sure_. Then the world came to an end. You offered to run away together, twice, and I couldn’t. _Oh_, I wanted to run away, but,” He met Crowley’s frozen gaze and smiled softly, “Oh, Crowley, was I too good at hiding my emotions?”

Crowley stared at him, unblinking and overwhelmed. He couldn’t decide on whether he should kiss him or spill his feelings into words, and so he did nothing. Aziraphale touching his cheek seemed to pull him out of his trance.

“Crowley?” The angel whispered, so softly and sadly, Crowley felt his soul melting.

“How can you after I…” Tears stung at his eyes, and shame stabbed his heart.

“That wasn’t you. And I _knew_ it wasn’t you the _second_ you said it was ‘just sex’,” Aziraphale whispered with a weak smile, “I rather enjoyed the kissing though.”

Aziraphale hesitantly placed a kiss on Crowley’s lips, sweet and innocent, and then he sucked at Crowley’s lower lip. Crowley parted his lips and Aziraphale deepened, tasting him like one of his divine desserts. Crowley groaned into his mouth, he could feel Aziraphale smiling, but the guilt was still too fresh, “I can’t.”

Aziraphale looked sorrowful and moved away instantly, “Sorry.”

Crowley frown, “You have nothing to apologise for, angel. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Aziraphale dismissed easily, fiddling with the button again.

Crowley sighed, “It’s not that I don’t want to … I just thought it might be safer to stay away from lust and the other sins for a while.”

Aziraphale smiled affectionately, “What about love?”

Crowley softened, cupping the angel’s face and kissed him, but even the slightest touch heightened his own lust and then he remembered bitterly what Lust had made him do. He knew logically that he wasn’t in control, but he had heard that the Sins simply let you free and the idea that he could be capable of _that_ was unthinkably vulgar. He kept the kiss chaste, struggling with his internal turmoil.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his waist, holding him close, but not pulling or pushing him from where he was. He was humming against Crowley’s lips, melting into him as Crowley relaxed. Eventually, Crowley parted his lips and let the angel in, moaning as he deepened the kiss and held him tighter.

Suddenly Crowley moved away, “I love you; romantically.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, his perfectly plump cheeks deepened as he blushed. His blue eyes were dark and glistening in the dimly lit bedroom, overwhelmed with joy, love, and passion. He leaned forward, placing kisses along Crowley’s jaw and down his neck, tangling his fingers in the demon’s short red hair.

“Azira-,” He sighed, fighting his urges, “Lust’s a sin … a very _bad_ sin.”

Aziraphale slowed his kisses, and nipped at his collarbone, “Don’t think of it as lust, my love. I want to make love to you.”

Crowley groaned, and pulled Aziraphale’s face back to his and kissed him passionately, “Please.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale mumbled against his lips, squeezing him tightly in his arms, “What do you want?”

“Make love to me,” Crowley gasped and pulled Aziraphale closer. The angel stepped off the end of the bed, leaning down to place kisses on the demon’s face as he worked his clothes off. Crowley stared in wonder at his willingness, the stark contrast to when he was controlled by the Sins, how easily Aziraphale could recognise him. Crowley beamed at him, the essence of his being seemed to glow, or a least as much as a damned celestial being could glow. Then he remembered his own clothes. He stood suddenly, shedding his shirt and then returning to Aziraphale’s swollen lips. Aziraphale suddenly abandoned the attempt to remove his shirt, instead he reached out for Crowley’s skinny jeans, making the demon somehow hiss and purr at the same time. Crowley swiftly popped the buttons on Aziraphale’s white shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his hands squeezing the bare flesh.

“Your beautiful,” Crowley whispered against his ear, he felt Aziraphale shudder as he kissed the joint on his jaw and down his neck, “Sssso beautiful.”

Aziraphale sighed at his touch, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of Crowley’s skinny jeans, trying to prise them off and failing. Crowley pulled off Aziraphale’s belt before removing his own jeans. They kept getting distracted by each other as they undressed, but neither complained. They crawled back onto the bed in their underwear, Aziraphale kissing every inch of skin, kissing every freckle he could see on the demon’s flesh, as Crowley sprawled beneath him. Eventually he reached Crowley’s boxers and teased the elastic.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Angel … please,” Crowley gasped having forgotten his earlier protests.

Aziraphale smiled and sucked at one of his nipples as his deft fingers sank beneath the fabric, stroking the scalding velvet skin of his effort. Crowley hissed and gasped, clutching at the angel. Aziraphale teased his nipple with his teeth, causing the demon to his and tug at the angel’s pale curls.

Crowley’s breath came in shorter bursts and Aziraphale slowed his ministrations around his cock, “Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley simply moaned and nodded, so close to utterly falling apart.

Aziraphale smiled and snapped his fingers, before kissing his way down Crowley’s flat stomach into the hair that surrounded the base of his cock. Crowley hissed with pleasure as Aziraphale’s hot breath fluttered over his skin. Aziraphale brushed gentle kisses along his length until his whole body shuddered before finally taking him into his mouth. Crowley gasped and groaned, writhing in blind bliss beneath the angel. Aziraphale lowered himself slowly, taking in as much of his lover as he could before pressing his tongue against his heat and pulling away again. Crowley grabbed the headboard blindly as Aziraphale slowly built some momentum.

“Ah-_AH_!” Crowley cried, every atom on his body felt alight, “Zira… I can’t… I’m gonna…”

Aziraphale sucked harder and Crowley cried out as he came, Aziraphale sucked down his spill until a sudden crack made him sit up in worry. Crowley had broken the headboard.

“Oops,” Crowley gasped, looking at the angel guiltily.

Aziraphale burst into laughter and crawled up the bed to kiss him, “It’s alright my love.”

Crowley frowned and set aside the broken chunk of wood he had pulled loose, “I thought… I mean we don’t have to…”

Aziraphale kissed him, lazily and wantonly, “I haven’t forgotten, dear. I just wanted to taste you. Do you need a minute?”

Crowley shook his head, “Now angel. I need you.”

Aziraphale smiled and sat up again, working his way between Crowley’s legs. He brushed his fingers lightly against Crowley sensitive cock which was already stiffening. He fondled his balls gently, making Crowley groan, before finally brushing Crowley’s arsehole. Crowley shuddered and sighed, waiting patiently beneath his angel. Aziraphale worked a couple miracles, one on his own underwear that was feeling unusually tight, and another to moisten himself and his lover. Crowley gasped and hissed as Aziraphale pushed a single digit inside him.

“That’s it dear,” Aziraphale whispered gently, as he slowly moved his finger inside him, “Just relax.”

“Zira… ah,” Crowley gasped, his fingers digging into Aziraphale’s flesh.

Once the demon has loosened a little, Aziraphale added a second finger and worked a little faster to prepare him. He kissed Crowley’s neck, leaving gentle bruises in his wake as he pushed a third finger inside him.

“I love you- oh!” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale smiled, thrusting his fingers against the same point inside him again and again until his words were barely legible.

Aziraphale sat back up and removed his fingers from his lover, thrusting a fist over his own erection, moistening himself in preparation, “I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley opened his eyes, his mouth open and breathing heavily, “I love you so much.”

Aziraphale kissed him as he pushed inside, Crowley cried out and Aziraphale deepened the kiss. They consumed each other’s groans and gasps until Aziraphale was all the way inside him.

“Crowley… fuck!” Aziraphale would have been ashamed of his language, but he just felt so good and could barely think of anything else to say.

Crowley chuckled and hitched his skinny legs over Aziraphale’s fleshy hips, “Make love to me.”

Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s golden snake-like eyes and smiled, kissing his lips gently as he slowly began to move inside him. Crowley’s head fell back on the plump pillows as Aziraphale’s pace quickened, slowly losing control of his body as he became undone. Aziraphale shifted slightly and thrust deeper inside, making his lover scream in ecstasy. He sucked at the demon’s neck and pulled his hair, silently wishing it was longer. Crowley clung to him, desperately wanting to touch every inch of him at once. Aziraphale’s arm wrapped itself around Crowley’s waist and pulled him onto his lap, Crowley gasped, but quickly picked up the pace, riding Aziraphale and tangling his fingers in his curls as they kissed. Aziraphale groaned and pushed him against the broken headboard of the bed, thrusting into him against the wall until the plaster cracked.

“Az! AH!” Crowley cried, tearing his nails down his spine, “Fuck! ZIRA!”

Aziraphale buckled and whimpered as he felt his pleasure climaxing, tasting his lover's sweat and love on his tongue. He licked and kissed until his lips hurt, “I love you so much.”

Crowley was writhing against the wall, “Angel- _ah!_ ANGEL!”

They climaxed together, clinging to each other’s flesh. Crowley tightened around him until he could see the stars Crowley had hung in the night sky. He spilled himself inside the demon, filling him up until he spilled out, he continued to thrust inside until it was too painful to continue and Crowley’s cock stopped twitching from his own release, Aziraphale fell back onto the bed and Crowley fell on top of him, struggling for breath neither of them really needed. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s clammy back and started chuckling softly.

“Whatsss sso funny?” Crowley sighed, his snake-like nature slipping through.

“I destroyed the wall,” Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley turned his head. The room was a mess to say the least. The headboard looked like a ship that had long since been torn apart on some reef, splinter scattered the room, the sheets had been pulled loose, and the wall was worst of all; cracked from wall to wall, and floor to ceiling, the point of impact easily identified by the missing paint and plaster and a spiders web of cracks.

“Not how you envisaged this evening, I imagine,” Crowley sighed, his voice rough from ecstasy and strained with exhaustion.

“Well I managed to confess my love, so I got one thing right,” Aziraphale replied airily, “The Seven Deadly Sins were a bit of a surprise.”

Crowley spun round in delightful surprise and Aziraphale could not help but smile lovingly, “Oh my dear, I did suggest the dinner at the Ritz, but nerves got the better of me. So, I suggested the picnic and…”

“I was different,” Crowley finished, sadly, “I’m sorry, angel. Bee-”

“It’s not your fault,” Aziraphale hushed with a kiss, “And everything worked out wonderfully.”

Crowley felt his heart drop, “They won’t stop.”

“Hm?”

“Hell. Heaven. They won’t leave us alone, not for long anyway,” Crowley muttered, his heart heavy in his chest.

“You know…” Aziraphale said slowly with a mischievous smile, “I’ve never been to Alpha Centauri.”

“Is the so?” Crowley teased, lifting himself in order to straddle the angel and lean over him, “Well, I just so happened to have been the angel to design that particular solar system.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale replied sarcastically, “Perhaps you could give me a private tour?”

Crowley leaned down to place kisses over Aziraphale’s face, “Maybe I will… but I want something first.”

“Anything,” Aziraphale sighed instantly.

Crowley smiled against his lips, “Can we try the picnic again?”

Aziraphale was glowing again, but it was warm, and Crowley wanted to bathe in it, “Of course, my love. Whatever you want.”

“But want do you want, angel,” Crowley sighed, falling into Aziraphale’s warmth and snuggling.

Aziraphale cradled his lovers head, “I want you to marry me.”

Crowley froze, and squeezed him tightly, “I’d like that.”


End file.
